


Whistle

by zamagl



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, M/M, Vicchan Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 22:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14778311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zamagl/pseuds/zamagl
Summary: Viktor didn't make an effort to remember most of his mornings at GPF Corp. Mostly they blended together into one mundane haze, characterized by the stale taste of watered-down office coffee and apathetic greetings from Chris. So it was almost jarring when, one brilliant morning, Viktor stepped into his office to find a message waiting in the window opposite his, constructed from bright sticky notes: "Hi!"And so the exchange of window messages began.Featuring Yuuri as a shy lab scientist, Viktor as a disaster on two legs, and Yuri as a criminally underpaid temp.





	Whistle

**Author's Note:**

> Idea shamelessly stolen from my friend, who tried this irl and tragically did not meet her soulmate.

Viktor Nikiforov didn’t make an effort to remember most of his mornings at GPF Corp. Mostly they blended together into one mundane haze, characterized by the stale taste of watered-down office coffee and apathetic greetings from Chris. So it was almost jarring when, one brilliant morning, Viktor stepped into his office to find a message waiting for him: “Hi!” The greeting had been posted in the office window opposite Viktor’s own, the letters constructed from bright sticky notes. Viktor set his mug down on his desk as he approached the window, pressing his hands against it and rereading the message with childlike wonder.

“Did you see this, Chris?” he asked, a grin dawning on his face--a marvel, given the hour and his present lack of caffeine intake. “It’s adorable!”

His officemate responded with a disaffected grunt, not nearly far enough into his own coffee to appreciate the message.

But Viktor couldn’t take his eyes off of it. “I wonder who did that! Do you know who works-” A sharp rapping of knuckles rattled the office door, and without bothering to turn around, he called, “Come in!”

The door clicked open. “I’m here to fix your computer,” their little temp grumbled, the acidity in his voice a quality that no amount of caffeine could fix. “As you requested. _Again._ What did you even do to it this time?”

“ _Nothing!_ ” Viktor protested weakly, deciding partway through that there wasn’t any use in trying to sell the lie.

Yuri sighed as he collapsed into Viktor’s unoccupied chair. “I swear, you purposefully screw up your computer just to torture me.” He cast a glance in Viktor’s direction, noting the lack of attention his complaints were receiving. “What are you even looking at, anyway?”

Viktor leaned slightly to the side, allowing Yuri a view of the message. “Isn’t that cute?” he effervesced, snapping a photo on his phone. “Someone actually took the time to make that!”

“Oh, good,” Yuri intoned, pulling the chair closer to the desk. “Someone else at this company is as bored as I am. Hey, what’s this?” He grabbed a loose wire, finally drawing Viktor’s attention as he waved it in his face. “Did you unplug this?”

Viktor shrugged. “I thought it would help.”

Yuri rolled his eyes as he reached around the monitor to plug the wire back in. “Remind me, what did we agree upon?”

“It seemed like a simple fi-”

“ _What did we agree on?_ ” Yuri spun the chair around to face Viktor, bright green eyes staring him down.

Viktor sighed, conceding defeat. “No trying to fix the computer myself.”

“And yet here we are.” Yuri twirled the chair back. “Let’s see if I can salvage your mess this time.” As he tapped away at the keyboard, Viktor took the opportunity to dig into his desk drawer, fishing out a pad of sticky notes. _Perfect._

The building beside theirs housed GPF Corp.’s research labs; it was situated just across a narrow courtyard, close enough for the employees to peer into one another’s windows, and far enough to maintain a comfortable distance between the research and sales staff. Viktor had little more than a periphery knowledge of that building’s employees, though it wasn’t for lack of trying; the company’s scientists seemed elusive by nature, with a tendency to work long, odd hours. And besides, they were...bookish? Was that the polite term? Plainly speaking, they were nerds, and awfully insular ones at that; GPF’s holiday parties often played out like middle school dances, with the scientists and sales staff keeping to their own sides of the cafeteria - with the notable exception of Chris, who inevitably paraded around the room after draining the remainder of the punch bowl.

Viktor had nearly finished his response, a sticky-note laden “Hi!” in his own window, when Yuri announced, “Okay, it’s fixed. Miraculously. Wait at least another day before breaking it again, will you? Other people on this floor have legitimate problems for me to take care of.” He pushed the chair away from the desk, allowing it to spin a couple times before it slowed to a stop. “And you’re not even paying attention.”

“I shouldn’t worry about breaking the computer again because you’ll be here to fix it, I got it.” Viktor glanced at Yuri, then back at his sticky note message. “Do you think it’s big enough? I want them to be able to read it.”

“It’s taking up most of the damn window, so unless they have cataracts, I think you’re safe. Now, do you have any anything else I need to fix or can I leave?”

“You’re excused.” Viktor took a few paces back from the window, admiring his work. “Chris, what do you think of it?” He turned toward his officemate, oblivious to the precarious swing of his elbow until it collided with his coffee mug, which until now had been sitting comfortably on his desk.

The next couple seconds unfolded in slow motion, with Viktor helpless to do anything but watch as the mug tilted over, its steaming contents flooding onto the desk in a muddy deluge. His computer sparked a few times, creating a miniature light show as its newfound life fizzled out. Yuri’s knuckles turned white as his fingers dug into the arms of the chair, his face slack with disbelief.

Amid the banality of Viktor’s mornings at GPF Corp., this one in particular broke the mold, not only because of the message on the opposite window, but because Viktor also very nearly lost his life to 5’4” temp worker.

* * *

 

“Who did this?” Viktor demanded the following morning, eyes wide as he studied the newly blank window. Five precious minutes of work, and for what? For his masterpiece to be destroyed overnight? He twirled on his officemate. “Was it _you?_ ”

“Why the hell would I take the time out of my day to take it down?” Chris slumped further into his seat, rubbing at his temple as he stared at his computer screen. “We have a custodian, if you’ll recall. She probably thought it was trash. Which it kind of was.”

With a huff, Viktor flung his bag and jacket into his chair, then turned back to the window. At least the sticky notes’ removal provided him an unobstructed view of the opposite window, and the brand new design that now graced it. This time, the sticky notes were arranged in a smiley face. It was cute, really. And it was only polite that Viktor respond in turn. He swiped his own pad of sticky notes off his desk, ignoring Chris’ protests of it being a waste of both time and resources.

A minute later, he stepped back to admire the open-mouthed smile decorating their own window, careful this time to avoid knocking over his cup of coffee. Yuri would kill him-- _slowly_ , he was sure--if he destroyed the replacement laptop. Viktor craned his head toward Chris. “Do you think it’s good?”

Chris buried his face in his hands and groaned, “Viktor, I don’t _care._ Some of us actually try to do the work we’re paid to do.” He ran his fingers through his blond curls and muttered, “How you ended up with some of our biggest clients is well beyond me.”

“I’m very charismatic.”

“My _ass_ is more charismatic than you are.”

Viktor chuckled as he faced the window again. “Do you think they’ll respond? I hope they do.”

His officemate’s sigh was emphatic. “Gosh, I hope they don’t.” 

* * *

 

But they did respond, and it was even grander than Viktor could have imagined. When he arrived at the office the next morning, he was greeted by a design of a dog’s face, done up in blue tape. Which was amazing on its own, but what really shook Viktor, what kept him frozen in place even as Chris disinterestedly clacked away at his keyboard, was that it looked _exactly_ like his own dog. Granted, there are certain similarities shared by most floppy-eared, curly-haired dogs, but it almost looked as if Viktor’s mystery windowpal-- _penpal?_ \--had mirrored it after Makkachin.

Maybe he should have interpreted it as a red flag. It was creepy, wasn’t it? Or, at the very least, _uncanny_ . But to Viktor--who had been characterized by more than a handful of people as a mobile disaster--whether it was deliberate or by coincidence, the picture was _charming._ And when Yuri stopped by a couple minutes later to deliver Viktor’s newly repaired computer, Viktor made sure to request a box of markers and a giant sheet of paper.

“Really?” Yuri scowled as he started up the computer. “I _just_ brought this back to you, and you’re already sending me on another mission?”

“It’s important, Yuri.”

“Fine. Whatever. I’ll go once I’m done with this.” As the desktop whirred to life, Yuri tapped his fingers on the replacement laptop. “Maybe I should just leave this here with you. It must be tough to have survived the past couple days.” Light flooded the desktop’s screen and Yuri rose out of the seat, clutching the laptop to his chest. “Well, there you go. Waste of money for the company to repair it, if you ask me. They should have just given you a typewriter. Or maybe a tablet and chisel, just to be safe.”

“Yuri, the paper and markers, _please._ ”

“Or paper and markers, yeah. That’s also a good option.” Viktor opened his mouth to protest, but Yuri was already headed out of the office, giving him a dismissive wave. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Just give me a few minutes.”

Perhaps Yuri had been irked when Viktor had asked him to retrieve the supplies, but he was _livid_ when Viktor swiped the paper out of his hands and wrote in giant letters, “DO YOU LIKE DOGS?”

“ _This_ is what you wanted those for?” Yuri seethed, watching as Viktor taped the paper to the window.

Chris grumbled, “You’re blocking the sun.”

“What, were you aiming for a sun tan in December?” Viktor retorted. “Besides, this is much more important.”

Yuri tugged at the ends of his hair, certain that by his contract’s end, he’d have as little hair left as Yakov. “I seriously doubt you have any concept of what that word means.”

 

Viktor had to squint the following morning to decipher his penpal’s response. The single sheet of printer paper--Viktor’s penpal was apparently more frugal with office supplies than he was--tacked to the opposite window sported a photograph of a toy poodle, underlined by a handwritten: “YES!”

His penpal had a poodle. _Viktor_ had a poodle. So he’d been right to trust his gut earlier; it hadn’t been a red flag after all, only a coincidence. _No._ Not coincidence. A _sign_ , one which Viktor would be a fool to ignore.

Which is why he sent a photo of Makkachin to the office printer, large enough to be distributed onto twelve 8.5x11 pages. Yuri stormed into the office not two minutes later, waving the ink-heavy stack in his hand. “This was you, wasn’t it? This _reeks_ of you.”

“Ah, Yuri, thank you!” Viktor plucked the sheets out of Yuri’s hand, clearing his desk to arrange them into a giant replica of Makkachin’s face.

“Is this for your dumb penpal thing?” Yuri groaned, dragging his fingers down his face as he watched Viktor tape the pages together. “You are _killing_ the environment, you know that?”

Viktor ignored Chris’ continued complaints about blocked sunlight as he stuck the enormous photo, still damp and heavy with printer ink, to their window. Yuri had a point, Viktor supposed, as he grabbed a scrap piece of paper and scribbled out a single word. But then, the greatest things in life all require a little sacrifice. He affixed the extra page below Makkachin’s photo: _“Mine!”_

A couple hours later, Viktor stole a glance at the opposite window and found that a heart had appeared there, artfully outlined in multicolored sticky notes. Viktor nearly melted. His penpal liked Makkachin! His penpal had given Makkachin a _heart!_

“Is it too aggressive to write ‘come over’?” Viktor pondered aloud.

Chris sipped his coffee. “Not at all, if you don’t care about sounding like a needy ex trying for a booty call.”

Viktor pursed his lips. There had to be another way to discover his penpal’s identity. Something less desperate than anything Viktor could think of in the moment. Whatever it was, it would have to wait; Yakov had saddled him with too many assignments to put in any real investigative work today, unless…

_Unless._

“This is dumb,” Yuri groused after Viktor had detailed the plan to him. “You want me to just waltz over to the research building and stalk some rando for you?”

“Please? I’ll pay for your lunches all week.”

Yuri sighed. “ _Fine._ But only because I’m not too busy right now. And you’d better keep that promise!”

Viktor snorted. “When have I ever reneged on a promise?”

Chris and Yuri’s responses came in unison: “Literally all the time.”

 

Yuri returned some twenty minutes later with more grumbling and absolutely no new information.

“What was I supposed to do?” Yuri hissed as Viktor moped in his chair. “That window belongs to one of the labs! I don’t even have clearance to get on that floor. Hey!” He swiped a pen from Viktor’s hand, which he’d been absently twirling in circles on the desk. “Don’t do that. Yakov will make me clean the ink off for you.”

Viktor heaved a sigh, slumping further in his seat. “I’ll just have to figure out another way to find them.”

“Preferably _without_ me.” Yuri stomped toward the door, creaking it open. “And don’t forget your promise!”

“What promise?”

Viktor barely ducked the pen that was lobbed at him, snapping in two as it hit the window.

* * *

 

Viktor couldn’t remember the last time he had been excited for GPF Corp’s annual holiday party. Probably his first year of working there, back before he knew what it actually meant, before he’d witnessed all the questionably-sourced alcoholic options and disastrous decision-making that it entailed. But _this_ year, Viktor resolved, things would be different. Because the holiday party, this atrocious bacchanal that brought annual shame to near everyone who attended, was the sole event that impelled the sales staff and lab nerds to _mingle._ And it was Viktor’s golden opportunity.

Viktor exhausted nearly half a roll of tape as he scribed onto the window: “Holiday party at 2 PM!!!”

“Hm.” Chris took a sip of his coffee. “Are you sure it’s big enough? Your penpal might miss it.”

Viktor twirled around, eyes wide. “You really think so? I have extra tape, I can-”

“Holy shit.” Chris set his mug on his desk, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to his monitor. “I can’t wait until you find this person and it turns out to be...oh, I don’t know, Dr. Baranovskaya.”

Viktor’s stomach turned. “Don’t even joke about that.”

 

A mere half-hour had passed since the holiday party had begun, and by Viktor’s judgment, it was already following its usual trajectory; that was to say, the research and sales staff had set up camp on opposite sides of the cafeteria. But nearly all of them already had one cup of mystery punch in their hands, so it was only a matter of time before they started to venture into the desert between them. And Viktor, who had been abandoned by his free booze-seeking officemate, would be the first to cross it alone.

“Viktor Nikiforov, sales,” he introduced himself, flashing a perfect smile with his practiced sales charm.

“Uh, Guang Hong Ji. Uh, product testing?” The scientist, already short in stature, appeared to shrink even more as he stared up at Viktor, not looking too unlike a rabbit encountering a predator--that predator being Viktor Nikiforov, sales. Maybe Viktor had come on too strong, too early in the party. No one here was drunk enough yet to handle Viktor on his full charm offensive.

So he scaled back a bit in his introduction to “Leo de la Iglesia, research and development.” The brunet had an easy smile, and a calm swagger to him that made Viktor think of sunny beaches and surfboards, and nothing of adorable dog designs in the company windows.

“Phichit Chulanont. I work in the labs!” The starry-eyed scientist took another swig of mystery punch. “What a party, huh? I feel like I wait all year long for this. By the way, is that your buddy over there?” He nodded toward Chris, who was still hovering by the drinks table.

“Yeah, my officemate, actually.” Depending on the outcome of the party, Viktor thought, he might regret admitting to that.

“I got some great pictures of him at last year’s party,” Phichit said. “He asked me to upload them to Instagram, but I couldn’t find one that _didn’t_ violate their terms of service. Do you remember that?”

Remember that? Last year’s party had only culminated in Chris and Viktor dragging their wrecked selves back to Chris’ apartment, Viktor sobbing on Chris’ sofa over being damned to singleness for eternity, and Chris declaring, “Fine, stay single forever. I don’t care as long as you don’t get tear stains on my couch. _I_ am still young and attractive and my eyeliner’s still on point, so I am going _out._ ” It had been 6 PM on a Wednesday.

A short conversation revealed Phichit to be an affable guy, with enough love for cute things--namely, his hamsters, of which he showed Viktor no fewer than ten photos--to be inclined to design cute dogs on the window. He was by far the best candidate Viktor had met so far, but it was still early in the party, and there were still plenty of lab nerds left for Viktor to interview. As they parted ways, he made a note to check in with Phichit later, in case he could gauge anything else.

But first, he’d need another drink.

He was mid-reach for the mystery punch--by far the riskiest drink at the table, though Viktor reasoned he’d need the side effects of the borderline toxic concoction to make it through this evening--when his hand bumped against another. “Ah.” He took a step back, withdrawing his hand to allow the other person to go first. “Apologies. After you.”

“Oh! Uh. That’s okay.” The man beside him shoved his glasses high on his nose as he dropped his gaze to the floor. It was a familiar sight; Viktor knew Yuuri Katsuki well. At least, as well as one can get to know the person with whom they share a silent elevator ride up from the parking garage everyday. Over the course of several years, Viktor had gleaned that Yuuri worked in the research labs.

But that was just about all Viktor had learned.

He must have paused--or Yuuri did--or they both did. In any case, a stagnant silence settled between them that turned the moment even more awkward. Perhaps in an effort to end it, Yuuri offered some mumbled nicety and hurried past Viktor, though he made a wide swerve around him, as though Viktor were some contagion he was trying to avoid.

“Wait!” Viktor returned to his senses, twisting around before Yuuri could scurry too far away. “Weren’t you going to grab some punch?”

Yuuri froze in place, his shoulders bunched with a curious tension. “Um. No. It’s fine.”

“It’s the only thing that’ll make this party bearable,” Viktor said, cracking a smile that he hoped might be returned. It wasn’t. “Here, I’ll pour you a cup.”

Yuuri unfroze, twirling to face him. “No, that’s really not necessary, I-”

Viktor nearly dropped the full cup into Yuuri’s hands, forcing the latter to catch it. “There you go.” He poured another cup for himself, then tapped the rim against Yuuri’s. “Cheers.”

Yuuri didn’t respond, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared down at his cup. Maybe the punch would do Yuuri some good, Viktor thought, noting the tension still visible in his shoulders. Viktor took a sip of the punch and grimaced, fighting hard to resist his body’s instinct to spit it out. He’d have to be careful with this. Last year’s mix had given him the worst hangover of his life, but this year’s might easily kill him.

“So, you work in the labs, right?” Viktor asked Yuuri, supposing that while he still had him trapped, he could pick his brain for clues about his penpal. “You’re a scientist?”

Yuuri nodded, bringing his own cup to his lips. He took a sip, not even flinching at the taste. Stone cold, Viktor marveled.

“How do you like working over there? Your coworkers seem friendly.” Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Phichit enveloping Chris in a tight hug, which Chris wholeheartedly reciprocated.

Yuuri took another gulp of punch before mumbling, “Yeah. They’re nice.”

Was that it? Either this guy was the most taciturn person Viktor had met in his five years here--an impressive feat considering the nature of some of the lab staff Viktor had met tonight, _especially_ Dr. Seung-gil Lee--or he just straight up hated Viktor. Which wasn’t out of the realm of possibility; only, the people who hated Viktor were usually pretty vocal about it. Maybe Yuuri was both taciturn _and_ hated Viktor. After all, he hadn’t so much as attempted eye contact since Viktor had handed him the punch.

Viktor decided he was done picking Yuuri’s brain, not that it had yielded any clues anyway. He flashed Yuuri another sales charm smile. “Well, it was nice chatting with you. Have a great winter break!”

“Oh.” Yuuri stared at him for a moment-- _at last_ \--before furrowing his brow and giving a quick nod. “Yeah. Thanks. You too.”

As Viktor meandered through the cafeteria, searching for someone else to interrogate, he didn’t miss Yuuri downing the remainder of his punch and immediately reaching for another ladle’s worth. Something like dread--or possibly just mystery punch--churned in Viktor’s stomach. Yuuri might hate him, but Viktor would still be praying for his alcohol tolerance tonight.

The mystery punch’s churning persisted, accompanied by disappointment as the evening wore on. Viktor’s plan to further investigate had been thwarted by the mystery punch, which made everyone so silly drunk that they’d become incapable of giving straight answers. “Have you met Mila?” Sara Crispino asked him, even after he’d assured her for the third time that Mila worked in the office next to him. Sara lifted a hand to her mouth, fighting back tears as she stared across the cafeteria at their coworker. “Her hair is so... _red._ ” Her voice cracked with a sob.

Viktor officially gave up around 5:30, declaring the venture fruitless, and reasoning that he ought to get home before he sought more comfort from the mystery punch--and definitely before Chris lost any more clothes.

He’d nearly escaped the cafeteria when his airway was cut off, his throat caught in a sloppy attempt at a headlock. Viktor stumbled backward, frantically wriggling out of the hold, and turned to find himself face-to-face with Phichit.

“Viktor!” Phichit exclaimed, sporting a grin that stretched from ear-to-ear. Viktor’s anger dissipated at once; Phichit had clearly fallen victim to the punch. “Leaving already?”

“Yeah, I have an early morning tomorrow.” It wasn’t a total lie; Makkachin usually started whining for her breakfast around 5 AM.

Phichit frowned. “That’s a bummer. Hey, wait!” He dug his phone out of his pocket, opening up Instagram as he tilted the screen toward Viktor. “What’s your Insta? I’ll follow you. You won’t want to miss the pictures from today’s party, _believe me._ ”

Viktor thought he actually _would_ prefer to never see any pictures of his sloshed coworkers, if last year’s party had been anything to go by. But he didn’t want to appear rude--and besides, Phichit seemed like a nice guy, and he was still Viktor’s best candidate for penpal--so he exchanged handles with Phichit.

“Great!” Phichit wrapped his arm around Viktor’s neck, nearly depriving him of air yet again. He tugged him closer as he lifted his phone and said, “Smile!” Maybe later, as a much more sober Phichit perused tonight’s photos, he would be able to recognize Viktor’s attempted smile as a pained grimace.

“Well, I’ll see you in a week,” Viktor said as he was released, taking caution to step far out of Phichit’s reach. “I hope you have a good break.”

“Yeah, you too!” Phichit called, waving as he returned to the throng at the center of the cafeteria. “It was nice meeting you!”

Viktor set off for the doors again, more eager than before to return to the relative peace of his apartment. It wasn’t that Viktor disliked parties, or even this one in particular, despite its somewhat sordid outcome year after year. But this year’s had felt like a bust. Maybe that was his own fault. He always did let his hopes soar too high.

He turned back briefly before opening the door, just to make sure he wouldn’t have to rescue Chris--or, more likely, rescue someone else from Chris. His officemate wasn’t hard to spot, his upper half already divested of any clothing; to Viktor’s relief, he was surrounded by a cadre of sales staff, who would help him avoid instigating any future lawsuits tonight.

Out of the corner of his eye, Viktor also spotted Phichit, who had made an ill-advised return to the drinks table. He was speaking with Yuuri Katsuki--or rather, Yuuri was speaking to _him_ , and rather rapidfire at that, gesticulating wildly with his hands. The effects of mystery punch, most likely. Poor Yuuri.

Or rather, _poor Viktor._ He’d endured a whole afternoon of mystery punch and awkward interviews, and for what? To awkwardly shuffle out of the party early without any confirmation of his penpal’s identity? Viktor sighed as he pushed his way through the doors, his coat ruffling in the frigid wind. Forget the holiday party; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d yearned this much for a week’s break. 

* * *

 

“Welcome back!”

The message, printed on a swathe of paper draped in the lab window, was all it took to lift Viktor out of his first-day-back-to-work doldrums. He snagged a roll of blue tape and assembled a few shoddy snowflakes on the office window.

Chris lifted an eyebrow as he entered the room a little while later, his overpriced coffee still steaming. “You’re really still doing that penpal thing?”

“Of course I am.” Viktor tried not to let his gaze look too longing as it slipped back toward the lab window.

Chris slung his bag to the floor, settling into his chair with a sigh. His computer sang a little start up ditty. “Didn’t you find out who it was at the holiday party? I thought you had some big plan.”

“The ‘big plan’ didn’t account for mystery punch,” Viktor admitted, slumping further into his seat. “But come on, you _know_ I didn’t find them. I texted you right after the party, don’t you rememb-” Chris lifted his eyebrow again and Viktor conceded, “Free booze. Right. Of course you don’t.”

Chris smirked as he leaned over his keyboard. “You know, I might not have many memories of that party, but I have some _great_ shots of some of the lab geeks, if you want to see them. Maybe your penpal is in there.”

Viktor waved his hand, his nose already scrunching in disgust. “No thanks. I’m sure there are sides of our coworkers that I’d be happier never seeing.”

He’d already seen more sides of Chris than any platonic officemate ever should.

 

To Viktor’s relief, the cafeteria wasn’t a complete swamp when he went to grab lunch; he’d expected it to still be emitting dank, post-holiday party miasma, but it was only emitting the usual, questionably-sourced-foodstuffs miasma. And sure, there were probably some messes that even the heroic custodians had missed after the party, left to fester in corners and under tables, but at least it had the _appearance_ of not being a biohazard.

And to make things even better, Viktor spotted Phichit eating lunch at a nearby table. As though sensing him, Phichit looked up from his tray, locking eyes with Viktor; at once, he broke into a smile and waved him over. “Hey, how’s it going?” he asked as Viktor took the seat across from him. “Did you have a good break?”

“Yeah, it was good!” Viktor studied Phichit as the scientist took a bite of his sandwich, marveling at his apparent health. “I’m surprised you survived the holiday party.”

“Ha!” Phichit laughed. “Yeah, that was a rough evening. And the next day, too. Honestly, I think I used up most of my break just recovering from it. Every year I promise myself that I’ll avoid the mystery punch, and yet every year, it drags me back.”

Viktor recalled the multitude of photos that Phichit had added to his Instagram in the days following the party. By the looks of it, Phichit was _hardly_ the only person who had fallen under the mystery punch’s curse. Viktor was only slightly ashamed that he’d spent a considerable amount of his own vacation poring through Phichit’s Instagram for clues regarding his penpal--an impressive feat considering Phichit’s portfolio probably rivaled that of any National Geographic photojournalist. The guy really loved his phone camera. And also Yuuri, Viktor noted, recalling all the photos and videos Phichit had posted of the two of them. They shared a lab in the research building, Viktor had learned. But that was about as far as his investigation had gotten; Phichit’s Instagram hadn’t yielded much in the way of clues.

“Oh. Uh,” someone mumbled at the end of the table. Viktor twisted in his seat to see Yuuri Katsuki standing statuesque as he held his tray, face blank as though he were trying to hide his displeasure at Viktor’s presence.

“Yuuri!” Phichit grabbed Yuuri’s arm and dragged him into the seat beside his own, nearly toppling everything on Yuuri’s tray. “Come sit with us! You’ve met Viktor, right?”

“Yeah, uh…” Yuuri didn’t bother to look up as he reorganized the contents of his tray, plucking an apple out of his spaghetti. “Yeah.”

“We met at the party,” Viktor explained, trying to sound friendly even in the face of Yuuri’s obvious dislike. “Did you have a relaxing break?”

Yuuri nodded, still refusing to make eye contact as he twirled a softball-sized bundle of spaghetti onto his fork. “Yeah. It was good. Thanks.” He shoved the mass of spaghetti into his mouth, a clear signal that it was time for that conversation to end.

Charming. Viktor turned his attention back to his own meal, scowling as he poked the cold calzone. “I’m not sure why they bother serving us these when their pizza is so much better.”

Phichit scrunched his nose. “You like the pizza here?”

“No, I _tolerate_ the pizza here, and that’s the highest praise I can give any of their food.” He sighed as he cut into the calzone, revealing a block of congealed, partially-frozen cheese. “I keep telling myself I’ll make my own lunches, but I think I’m just too lazy to be that much of an adult.”

In spite of the cafeteria staff’s egregious crimes against the culinary world, Viktor’s lunch break was an enjoyable one. Phichit was a fun conversation partner, eager to share stories and photos of his adventures over break, which he’d spent visiting his family in Thailand. It was a better story than Viktor, who’d spent most of his break at home with a Santa hat-donned Makkachin, could share. And it was far more than Yuuri was willing to share; he stayed silent through the whole course of their conversation, even after he’d devoured all the food on his tray. Which was...fine, Viktor reassured himself.

Well, no, it wasn’t, his precariously frail ego argued. But he sure could pretend it was. 

* * *

 

All the same, it was the sheer stubborness of Viktor’s precariously frail ego that impelled him to continue eating lunch with Phichit and Yuuri. Well, that and Phichit’s exuberant company, even if Yuuri rarely deigned to utter more than a few words to Viktor. And the possibility that Phichit might know about his penpal’s identity didn’t hurt, either.

The strange thing about Viktor’s sleuthing, though, was that the more he learned about Phichit, the less confident he became in even choosing Phichit as a candidate. There was certainly enough evidence to suggest that he was--his goofy sense of humor, for instance, or his love for furry and cute animals--but it was matched by the evidence suggesting that he _wasn’t._ For one thing, while Phichit had made his love for dogs very obvious, he didn’t actually own one. He had hamsters instead, and Viktor suspected that were Phichit his real penpal, he would have found a hamster design in the window rather than a dog. Moreover, when Viktor casually mentioned arts and crafts, Phichit confessed he had no skill for it. And maybe he was just being humble, but...well, Phichit didn’t strike Viktor as the humble type.

Which was a bummer, since Viktor’s penpal was obviously abundant in artistic talent. All week, the window opposite Viktor’s had been decorated with little winter designs: more snowflakes, snowmen, and even a downhill skier traced in blue tape. Viktor hadn’t even attempted to replicate that one, instead taping up his own, half-melted looking snowman, accompanied by a message of, “Wow! So talented!”

Maybe Yuuri was secretly the artistically gifted one, Viktor mused during one lunch break, letting his gaze fall on Yuuri as the latter ignored him. The thought wasn’t entirely wry in nature. It would be imprudent to leave Yuuri off Viktor’s list of suspects. He’d even gone so far as to request to follow Yuuri on Instagram, hoping he might gather some clues from there. His request was, of course, still outstanding.

Maybe Viktor ought to give Yuuri and Phichit some space. If he’d had any hope at the beginning of the week that Yuuri’s discomfort around him might subside with time, Yuuri had thoroughly gutted it. And while Viktor still couldn’t make sense of Yuuri’s icy disapproval of him, Phichit _had_ been Yuuri’s friend first. Maybe it would be best for everyone if Viktor found somewhere else to eat his lunch.

And that was what he planned on doing, truly and honestly, until he poked at the cafeteria’s stale french toast one day and mused, “I wonder which recycling bin they pulled this from.”

If Viktor hadn’t seen it, if he hadn’t _heard_ it, he would have refuted its very possibility - that tiny laugh from across the table, quiet and truncated as Yuuri caught himself, flushed pink, and ducked his head.

Warmth blossomed in Viktor’s chest, and while it could have been heartburn from the french toast, the smile tugging at his mouth suggested otherwise. And so that became the day Viktor swore he _wouldn’t_ stop sitting at Yuuri and Phichit’s lunch table, setting a challenge for himself to coax that small laugh out of Yuuri yet again.

As fate would have it, when Viktor raced through the parking lot toward the elevator the next morning, it was Yuuri who held the door for him. Viktor squeezed through the narrowing doors, rattling out a harried thanks. “My dog tore open her entire bag of food this morning,” he said, certain Yuuri didn’t care. “It got _everywhere._ Ugh, I’m so late. Yakov’s going to yell my ears off.” Viktor paused a moment to breathe, sending a glance Yuuri’s way. “Come to think of it, it’s a little late for you to be coming into work too, isn’t it?”

Yuuri shrugged, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “The experiment Phichit and I are running is going to keep us here until late tonight, so Celestino gave us permission to come in later than usual.”

It was the longest string of words Yuuri had ever uttered toward Viktor. And Viktor, suave as ever, was left wordless and slack-jawed, saved from further humiliation only by the grace of the elevator ding. As they stepped off the elevator and parted ways, Viktor collected himself for long enough to turn around and call, “Good luck with your experiment!”

“Oh?” Yuuri paused and turned in place, his dark eyes wide behind his glasses. “Um. Thanks!” He twirled back around and immediately crashed into another person. “Ah, sorry!” Even from a distance, Viktor could spot the rapid flush of his face. “So sorry! Let me help you pick that up. Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean- Ah, okay. Sorry again!”

And from that same distance, Yuuri missed the flush high in Viktor’s cheeks, pink enough to match his own.

 

That afternoon, during that miserable crawl of time between Viktor’s caffeine crash and his lunch break, some movement in the opposite window caught his eye. His fingers froze mid-word on the keyboard as another pair of hands peeled away the snowman in the lab window. Viktor’s heart raced. Would it be overkill if he rushed out of his chair and pressed his forehead to the glass to chance a glimpse of his penpal’s face?

Probably, he concluded with considerable reluctance. Knowing his penpal’s identity wouldn’t do him any good if he scared them off.

As a new design began taking shape in the lab window, Viktor slipped his phone out of his pocket and opened the camera. He aimed it at the window, focusing it as best he could on the image beyond, and snapped a photo: _Click!_

Chris lifted an eyebrow. “Taking selfies again?”

“No, I-” Viktor’s heart dropped as the motion in the window ceased. The hands withdrew. Viktor leaned forward, nearly falling out of his chair. “No, no! That can’t be it! I only got one photo!”

“Whatever’s the matter, you’re overreacting.”

“No, you don’t understand! Look!” After sending one last, desperate glance toward the lab window, Viktor marched around to Chris’ seat and held out his phone. “My penpal was _there!_ I saw their hands! And look - _look_ , Chris, I got a photo. But there’s only one and-”

“It’s blurry as hell,” Chris observed.

“What?” Viktor tilted the screen back, dragging his hand down his cheek as his eyes confirmed Chris’ judgment. Granted, it probably shouldn’t have been a surprise--a picture taken on a phone camera through _two_ grimy windows was not about to win a Pulitzer. But still, this one was so, so… “Tragic,” Viktor groaned, collapsing back into his seat without a hint of irony. “This was my one chance, and…” He held his phone at a distance, squinting at the blurry figure in the shot. Well, his penpal was definitely human; he’d confirmed that much. And they... _probably_ had two eyes? Viktor wanted to melt into his chair.

Fascinatingly, Yuri shared the same wish when he stopped by the office a few minutes later, only to be met with an onslaught of desperate requests from Viktor to _please_ enhance the photo, Yuri, it’s urgent.

“So you can figure out who this person is?” Yuri handed the phone back to Viktor, his lip curled. “How on earth do you expect me to do that?”

“I don’t know.” Viktor shrugged, wiggling his fingers in the air. “Your computer magic.”

“Stop that.” Yuri swatted Viktor’s hand away from his face. “And forget it. I can’t do anything with a photo that blurry.”

So it was hopeless after all. Viktor collapsed again into his chair, sliding so far down that his knees nearly hit the floor. Yuri, their resident technical wizard, had been his last chance. Viktor swiveled his chair to face the window, ignoring Yuri’s query of, “Is he going to be okay?” and Chris’ response of, “This is the best-behaved he’s been all month, so probably not.” Instead all of Viktor’s attention was drawn to the message in the lab window - looming, mocking, _belittling_ him for his failure:

“Pizza in the caf today!”

As Viktor’s tiny fortune would have it, pizza _was_ in the caf that day. But Yuuri and Phichit were not. Georgi was, though, and Viktor picked at his sad slice of pizza as he half-listened to stories of Georgi’s catastrophic love life, but mostly pondered over how much wine he was going to consume once he got home. 

* * *

 

The weeks wore on. Crisp winter air strengthened to blustering, biting winds; snow piled up on the sidewalks, gray from city grime; the snowflake designs vanished from the windows of Viktor and his penpal, both of them too exhausted by winter to make anything cute of it anymore.

But the smiley faces and dogs that regularly adorned the lab window were just as cute. As were the messages dispensing advice about the cafeteria food that day, even if Viktor found his penpal’s tastes to be much more forgiving than his own. And the “Happy Monday!” the awaited him every seven days made the work week almost bearable.

Granted, there were other things that made it bearable, too. To pick an entirely random example, say, there was Viktor’s growing rapport with Yuuri, who not only established eye contact with him at lunch now, but smiled-- _smiled!_ \--at him when he joined the table every day. And while Yuuri was still a man of few words where Viktor was concerned, his contributions to their lunch conversations were becoming more frequent by the week. Sometimes luck even favored Viktor, leading him to conversation topics that riled Yuuri up--last week, for instance, he’d learned of Yuuri’s _very_ strong opinions about classical music--and Yuuri would launch into a passionate defense of some inane topic while Viktor watched and listened in silent amazement, and Phichit slipped him the occasional knowing smirk.

It was good. Even if the weather was cruel, even if Viktor still didn’t know the identity of his penpal, things were good.

Especially Viktor’s mornings. He was diligent about arriving on time to take the elevator up from the parking garage with Yuuri--or to wait in his car until Yuuri arrived. Anyone else might have realized the innate creepiness of the gesture, but Viktor’s mother had always counted his extreme self-unawareness as one of his blessings.

“Yuuri!” Viktor called one morning, as he spotted Yuuri scuttling through the parking garage. The name bounced off the concrete walls, full surround sound first thing in the morning; Viktor didn’t miss Yuuri’s little jump before he turned around. Viktor waved. “Wait for me!”

As he neared, Yuuri’s gaze slipped past him, his wide eyes drawn to Viktor’s car. “That’s, uh...quite a car.”

“Oh, that old thing?” Viktor grinned. The bright pink convertible, he thought, had been one of his all-time best decisions. “Yeah, I guess it’s pretty nice.”

Yuuri tore his attention away from the car at last, peering up at Viktor as they walked together toward the elevator. “Aren’t you worried that it’s… I don’t know. A little too flashy?”

Viktor laughed. “I mean, that _is_ the point.”

 

“Did you tell him that it’s an old junker that you painted pink?” Chris asked later that morning, watching as Viktor started a new design in the window. “Did you tell him what its mileage was when you bought it? Or about the weird buzzing noise it makes when you drive under fifty miles per hour? Oh! Does he know that the radio is permanently stuck on the ‘90s ska hits station, or are you saving that as a surprise for your first date?”

Viktor rolled his eyes. “We don’t even have _plans_ for a first date.” He bit down on a strip of tape, tearing it off the roll, and adhered it to the window.

“That’s surprising, considering you’ve been talking about him nonstop for the past two weeks. Well, him, and _that_ thing you’re doing.” Chris nodded toward the half-finished rabbit Viktor was working on, an appropriate response to the cute pig in the lab window. “Between Katsuki and your penpal, I’m not sure which one you’re more in love with.”

“I’m not-”

“Is _that_ what you’re using this for?!?”

Viktor twirled toward the door, hiding the roll of tape behind his back. In the doorway, Yuri dropped the box he was holding; as it hit the ground, rolls of tape tumbled out in a myriad of directions. Yuri’s face purpled. “You said it was an urgent mission!”

“It _was_ urgen-”

“I just spent a whole hour of my life scouring this building for tape. I had to listen to Georgi cry about his girlfriend for _fifteen minutes!_ ” He stomped around the office, grabbing rolls of tape and tossing them back into the box. “Forget it. You don’t deserve these.”

“No!” Viktor abandoned his rabbit as he dove for the tape, hoarding as many rolls as he could and clutching them close to his chest. “Yuri, I need these!”

“Right, so you can waste more time making dumb designs for your- your…” He gave a dismissive wave toward the lab window. “That pig you’re in love with.”

But cute as the pig was, Viktor wasn’t in love with it. Er, _him._ Or her, possibly, he couldn’t be sure. But whoever his penpal was, Viktor was sure that he hadn’t fallen in love with them.

He was less sure of other things.

 

“I think that… That might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Viktor marveled, once he’d regained enough sense to string words together. He’d forgotten his meal altogether, unable to take his eyes off the video that was playing on loop on Phichit’s phone; again and again, a pixelated Yuuri skated across the local ice rink in some impromptu performance. “I wish I could have seen it in person! Next time you two go ice skating, you _have_ to take me.”

Yuuri’s cheeks had sported an endearing shade of pink ever since Phichit first mentioned the video. He ducked his head as he mumbled, “It’s not _that_ impressive. I’ve taken figure skating lessons since I was a kid. Honestly, I used to be better, but I haven’t practiced in a while.”

“I don’t know how you could be much better than that, unless you were an Olympian or something.” Viktor leaned halfway across the table, resting his chin in his hands. “Promise me you’ll teach me how to skate sometime, okay?”

“What?” Yuuri laughed for a moment before his eyes went wide, the smile dropping from his face. “You’re...serious?”

“Of course I am!”

“Oh, I mean… I guess I could, sure!” Yuuri tilted his head as he studied Viktor, his brow slightly furrowed. “You...really don’t know how to skate?”

In fact, Viktor was a five-time champion of the juniors’ figure skating competition at City Central Rink.

“I’m not nearly as good as I’d like to be.” That, at least, wasn’t a _total_ lie. “What do you say? We could swing by the rink on Market and 24th sometime and you could teach me a few tricks.”

An additional fact - Viktor’s senior superlative was “biggest heartbreaker.” His mom had cut the page out his yearbook and framed it above the mantel, declaring it her son’s greatest academic achievement. (She hadn’t been wrong.)

It was probably a good thing Yuuri wasn’t his classmate or Viktor never would have won that title, Viktor thought, as Yuuri’s face turned impossibly pinker. _Cute._ Viktor’s cool facade was fracturing fast.

Yuuri scratched at the back of his head. “Well,” he murmured, “okay then, I guess. Yeah, I’d be happy to do that.”

Viktor grinned. “Great! Let’s set a date!” He didn’t miss Yuuri’s sharp inhale at the last word, though for both their sakes, he pretended he hadn’t heard. “Are you free next weekend?”

Yuuri shook his head. “No. And not the one after that, either. But I think I should be free in two weeks’ time.”

“Perfect!” Viktor agreed, not bothering to check his calendar. Whatever else he had planned for that day had now been rendered insignificant.

Yuuri looked to Phichit, whose presence Viktor had nearly forgotten. “What about you, Phichit? Does that weekend work for you?”

“Oh, no, sorry,” Phichit said, all his attention drawn to his phone, the screen just inches from his face. Viktor tilted his head as he stared at the lens, which also appeared to be staring _him_ down, and Phichit smirked. “I definitely have something planned that weekend.”

“What?” The pitch of Yuuri’s voice rocketed up an octave. “Like what?”

Phichit shoved his phone back into his pocket, giving a nonchalant shrug. “It’s just something,” he said, granting both them a small smile. “Definitely important, though. You two will just have to go without me.”

Shitty weather and an unknown penpal be damned, things really _were_ good. 

* * *

 

“I’m finally doing it, Chris.” Viktor smoothed out the poster that he’d adhered to the window. It was 5:30, already half-an-hour after the lab window had turned dark. But that was for the best, Viktor thought. If he’d suspected his penpal might be watching, he probably would have chickened out.

Chris, who couldn’t feign enough disinterest to actually leave, had settled for leaning against the doorframe to the office. He gave an audible yawn. “Are you sure about your timing, though? Tomorrow _is_ Valentine’s Day.”

“You think they’re going to get mixed signals because of that? Chris, I’m just asking for their _name_ , not their hand in marriage.” Viktor stepped back from the poster, judging its placement. It needed to be the first thing his penpal saw when they walked into the lab tomorrow morning. And while asking in such a direct way wasn’t Viktor’s preferred style, it seemed the inevitable conclusion of a fruitless investigation - mostly because it had been sidetracked by Viktor’s genuine interest in Yuuri and Phichit’s friendship. Along the way, discovering the identity of his penpal had lost its urgency. Now it just felt like the right time to ask; it didn’t make sense for Viktor _not_ to know anymore.

Viktor could practically hear Chris’ eyeroll in his response: “You know perfectly well that’s not what I’m referring to.”

Viktor heaved a sigh. “Chris, it’s not a _curse_ -”

“It absolutely is a curse-”

“It’s just coincidence, that’s all-”

“You end up sick at home for _three_ Valentine’s Days in a row and you call that coincidence?” Chris gave a tut of disapproval. “That, my friend, is a bona fide curse.”

“Pfft, a curse?” echoed a voice from the hallway. Chris shuffled out of the doorway to make space for Yuri, who plodded in, encumbered by several reams of paper. “More likely, he feels so sorry for his single self that he can’t get out of bed.”

Viktor scowled. “What are you still doing here, anyway?”

“The paper order just came in. I’m distributing it before I leave.” Viktor and Chris’ joint desks rattled as Yuri dropped the paper on it. He nodded toward the poster. “What’s that? You’re finally asking your penpal for their name?”

“Not that he’ll be here to see it tomorrow,” Chris muttered.

“Okay. You know what? Enough.” Viktor marched to his desk and began packing his bag. “It’s _not_ a curse, and it’s _not_ me feeling bad for myself. And this year, it won’t be _anything_ , because I won’t be sick, and I’ll definitely find out who my penpal is tomorrow.” He slung his bag over his shoulder as he headed for the open door. “With or _without_ your support.”

Yuri’s face twisted. “What do you mean, ‘without our support?’ Who do you think ordered all those markers and tape for you?” As Viktor rounded the corner into the hall, he could still hear Yuri griping, “And you _still_ owe me half of those lunches you promised!”

Viktor smirked. Regardless of what Chris or Yuri might say, he had a glowing confidence in tomorrow, when he’d finally-- _finally!_ \--learn the name of his penpal. After all, three Valentine’s Days in a row that he’d spent sick at home was a strange coincidence, sure, but it was still just that: coincidence. And there was no reason to get worked up over something so small.

Anyway, that was what Viktor told himself when, like clockwork, midnight struck and he sneezed. 

* * *

 

Felled by a devastating combination of the common cold and self-pity, Viktor could barely drag himself to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal the next morning.

“Chris,” he sobbed into speakerphone, his cheek pressed to the cold surface of the kitchen counter, “I need your help. _Please._ ”

“You sound awful,” Chris replied. “Don’t tell me you called Yakov like this, too?”

In fact, he had. It was hardly the first time he’d called Yakov as a blubbering mess, and Yakov had been quick to remind him of that, insisting, “Viktor, if you’re sick, you’re sick. It’s not a big deal if you stay home. I can’t imagine why you’re making this out to be such a tragedy.”

“Please, Chris,” Viktor begged again. “I just need one favor from you. Can you take a photo of my penpal’s reply and send it to me?”

There was a pause on the other end of the call, followed by the click of Chris’ tongue. “You’re not going to like my answer. The bathroom above our office flooded overnight, so I can’t get into our office, much less see if your penpal has responded.”

Viktor’s breath caught. “What? What about the other offices on our floor? Can you get into any of those?”

“Nope. They’ve all been affected, too. Most of the floor’s a wreck, honestly. Yakov has us sharing space with accounting today.”

The groan Viktor produced was arguably not human. “Can’t you…” He twirled the cereal spoon in circles in the bowl, watching it with waning hope. “I don’t know. Can’t you just sneak back into the office and take a picture, just for me?”

“What part of ‘there is literal toilet water raining from our ceiling’ don’t you understand?” Chris huffed. “You know what, I’m going to assume your total disregard for my well-being is just a symptom of your illness. Just stay home and get some rest. Your penpal’s message will probably still be there tomorrow.”

Viktor opened his mouth, ready to make one last desperate pitch to his officemate, but Chris had already hung up.

At least he could find some comfort in Makkachin, the only one to wipe away his tears - even if it was only because she liked the salty taste.

Damn the upstairs bathroom. Damn Valentine’s Day. Damn that curse.

* * *

 Like clockwork, once again, Viktor awoke with a spring in his step the next morning. He wasted no time in giving Makkachin her breakfast, barely remembering to prepare some for himself, and then flew out the door. It was probably the earliest he’d ever left for work. Yakov might think he was still sick.

Or at least, he might have, had there not been unannounced construction in Viktor’s usual parking area, which meant he had to park even further away than usual. This also meant that he arrived at the office too late to be considered “very early,” and--worse yet--too early to catch up with Yuuri in the elevator.

It wasn’t like his timing mattered anyway, since the office was still closed for repairs when Viktor reached his floor. The entire wing was cordoned off by barricades reading “biohazard,” which Viktor probably would have ignored, were they not being guarded by a small cadre of custodians and repairmen.

It seemed cruel enough that Viktor had been barred from seeing his penpal’s response--assuming it was still up, or that they’d even put one up in the _first_ place--but the workday wasn’t done with him quite yet.

“Can anyone tell me why we have spent over a hundred dollars on _tape_ over the past two months?” Yakov demanded during the “emergency floor meeting” he’d called just ten minutes before Viktor’s lunchbreak. Viktor stole a glance at the clock; he was already fifteen minutes late. At this rate, he was going to totally miss Yuuri and Phichit. The pounding of Yakov’s fist on a desk snapped Viktor’s attention back. “What could you possibly be using all of that for?”

“Someone’s weird kink,” Chris muttered under his breath.

Yakov continued, “Our supplies spending has nearly _doubled_ over the past few months. Are you people trying to get us in the red? If I don’t see any changes soon, I’ll have to institute a sign-out system for the supplies.”

Viktor supposed he should be counting his blessings that Yuri had asked for the day off. No doubt the beleaguered temp would sell him out without any prompting, with a generous share of insults to boot.

 

It was the only blessing Viktor could count that day. When he dragged himself to the car that afternoon, fatigued and suffering from a pounding headache, he discovered a note flapping beneath one of his windshield wipers. Reading it, he learned that he’d apparently taken someone else’s usual parking spot, along with some new swear words _and_ which body part his face most resembled.

Viktor’s only solace that afternoon was that he had a fluffy dog and an unopened bottle of red wine waiting at home. 

* * *

 

At least Viktor’s usual parking spot was available the next morning. And more importantly, joy of joys, arriving on time meant running into Yuuri on the elevator. Viktor couldn’t deny the little spark in his chest--not that he would, anyway--when Yuuri stumbled into the small space, pushing his glasses up his nose, cheeks turned pink from the wind.

“Oh!” Yuuri startled as the doors closed behind him. “V- Viktor! I, um...didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Viktor tilted his head. What was Yuuri talking about? This was their morning tradition. Shaking his bemusement off, Viktor gave an easy shrug. “Ah, yeah, I guess I’ve been kind of off the radar lately. It’s just been a crazy couple of days, you know? But I think things are going back to normal now. Er, I hope, anyway.” He shot Yuuri a small smile, which Yuuri returned, though there was an obvious unease to it.

“Right.” Yuuri pushed his glasses up, though they were already resting high on the bridge of his nose. “Hey,” he began, his voice wobbly. “Uh… Just wondering, did you ever see my message?”

A message? From Yuuri? Oh, that Viktor would be so lucky, but the only message he’d seen within the past twenty-four hours was… He stiffened. “You mean the one from the other day?” Yuuri gave a fervent nod, and Viktor’s brow furrowed. That didn’t make any sense. The message left on his windshield yesterday sounded _far_ too aggressive for Yuuri. But then, Yuuri wasn’t denying it. He had even _asked_ him about it, so…

“Uh… Oh.” Viktor cleared his throat. “That was _you?_ ”

Yuuri nodded again, his face flushing red. Viktor must have really pissed him off. Or maybe Yuuri just wasn’t the confrontational sort? Or maybe Viktor just didn’t know his friend nearly as well as he’d like to think.

“Er...yeah, I did,” Viktor admitted. “That was, uh...some strong language. I guess I got the point?” He laughed in an awkward attempt to defuse the situation. “Sorry, I really didn’t mean to make you upset. Can we just move on from that?”

Yuuri was silent for a moment, just long enough for the elevator to reach the lobby, the doors opening with a ding. Viktor waited with bated breath for the response, quiet as Yuuri mumbled, “Oh. Yeah. Sure. Um...sorry.” And then Yuuri was gone, out the doors and down the lobby, leaving Viktor nonplussed in the open elevator.

The office was still blocked off when he reached his floor, so he retreated to the cramped quarters of accounting. He’d been reunited with his replacement laptop--a real trooper of a machine, Yuri reminded him--and granted a small cubicle to share with Chris. It wasn’t all bad. If there was anyone who deserved pity, it was Mila, forced to share a desk with Georgi, who had just been dumped by his girlfriend. Again. Even from the safety of his cubicle, Viktor couldn’t block out Georgi’s sniffles.

He took a break around noon, heading down to the cafeteria in the hopes of grabbing lunch with Yuuri and Phichit. But when he stepped out of the lunch line, carrying a tray of melted ziti and fluorescent marinara, he couldn’t spot either of the scientists. Unfettered, he took a seat at their usual table and waited, picking at his lunch and trying not to think too hard about its ingredients. He waited, pondering Yuuri’s strange behavior that morning, and wondering whether he’d said something wrong. And he waited, and waited some more, for lunchmates who never showed. Which was...fine. Maybe they were busy, and Viktor was- Viktor was fine.

Which was exactly what he told Chris, several times over, as he regaled his poor cubicle-mate with his maudlin tale, aware that Chris wasn’t _really_ listening to music through his disconnected headphones. But damn if Chris wasn’t a good actor, tapping his fingers in rhythm on the desk as he continued to ignore Viktor.

At least Yuri was there for him, even if he was only stopping by to deliver some documents from Yakov. He lifted an eyebrow as he caught the tail end of Viktor’s story.

“Yuuri and Phichit? From the lab?” he asked. Viktor nodded. “Aren’t they, you know, a thing?”

“What?” Viktor laughed, stunned by the absurdity of the assumption. “No. No, of course not. They’re best friends, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?” Yuri scrunched his nose, unconvinced. “I saw Yuuri giving Phichit a box of chocolates out in the courtyard on Valentine’s Day. That doesn’t seem very best friend-y to me.”

“That could be anything!” Viktor tried not to cringe at the desperation seeping out of his voice. “That… No, they’re definitely best friends.”

“Whatever. Still seems like something else to me.” Yuri gave a shrug. “I don’t see why you care so much, anyway.” He nodded toward the stack of documents he’d dropped on Viktor’s desk. “I’ll be back around 4:30 to collect those. Yakov’s request, so _please_ actually get through them before then.”

Viktor slumped further into his chair as Yuri departed their cubicle. It couldn’t be true. Yuuri and Phichit? Not a chance. He’d eaten lunch with them nearly everyday for the past couple months and he’d never picked up on anything romantic between the two of them. But then, he supposed with gnawing dread, friendship could always blossom into something new. A sickening pit formed in his stomach as he gazed over at Chris.

“You don’t think they’re really together, do you?” When Chris didn’t respond, Viktor continued, “I mean, it doesn’t make sense! But I guess… I guess it might- They’re already so close, and neither of them were at lunch today, so maybe…” He slid further down in his seat, his back nearly parallel with the floor, as he dragged his fingers down his face. “Ugh, what if I’ve missed my chance? I waited too long and now… Love is _dead_ , Chris!”

Across the cubicle, Chris heaved a sigh. “Go cry to Georgi about it. I have actual work to do.”

As though on cue, Georgi sniffled, and Viktor abruptly pushed himself back up his chair. 

* * *

 

Viktor watched as Yuri set up his new computer, pinching his nose in a fruitless attempt to block out the lingering bathroom stench. Facilities services claimed to have repaired the flood damage over the weekend, but Viktor couldn’t help but feel they’d neglected a few things. Like the sanctity of his nostrils, for instance. Or the brown stain on the corner of the office ceiling, which Viktor swore had grown since he’d arrived at work an hour ago.

“Voila,” Yuri announced, stepping away from the computer as the screen brimmed with life. “That’s a great model. The company really spent a fortune on new computers for you guys.” He sighed. “A shame it’s going to waste on _you._ Maybe I should take a picture while it’s still in one piece.”

“Okay, okay.” Viktor shooed Yuri out of the office. “Thanks for setting it up. I’ll call you when I break it later today.”

Yuri stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing. “That had _better_ be-”

“Of course it’s a joke, come on!” Viktor shut the door behind Yuri. He let his back fall against it, slumping as he stared at the window.

“Still bummed out?” Chris asked from his desk, fingers already clacking away at the keyboard.

“Yes,” Viktor mumbled. He pushed himself away from the door, only to plop into his chair, all the while keeping his gaze peeled on the empty lab window.

“Sorry,” Chris said, almost sounding like he meant it. “I know you really wanted to meet them. Do you think you could just ask for their name again?”

Viktor shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s _nothing_ in the window now. It hasn’t been blank for months. What if they think I stopped replying because of their answer? I might have offended them.”

_“Or_ they heard about the flood and didn’t want to leave messages if you weren’t going to read them,” Chris suggested. “Why don’t you try again?”

“Hm.” Viktor reached into one of his desk drawers, grabbing a roll of tape. “I’ll have to start small, though, just in case.”

And so it came back to basics: “Hi!”

Simple and inoffensive, with the promise of further conversation. It would do.

Viktor took a step back from the window, and heard the collision--the sudden slide of plastic on a wooden surface, the chorus of clacketing keys--before he even felt his elbow smack into the keyboard. He twisted around in a vain effort to catch it, but by the time he’d turned, the keys were already scattered across the floor.

“Huh.” Chris took a sip of his coffee. “Are you going to call Yuri?”

Viktor’s shoulders fell. “What time is it?”

“Hm… 9:12.”

“Let’s give it another half-hour before I ruin his day.”

 

Yuri, at least, wasn’t the only one to have his day ruined, because Yuuri and Phichit _still_ didn’t show up to lunch in the cafeteria. Maybe they were off having a private lunch by themselves, whispered a voice in Viktor’s head that sounded suspiciously like Yuri. He shooed the voice away. Sort of. Because it didn’t make any sense - right? They weren’t a thing. They _couldn’t_ be a thing. That wasn’t the relationship they had.

Right?

In Viktor’s desperation to not eat alone, he took up a seat at Georgi’s table. He prodded at the mystery meat on his tray as Georgi prattled on and on over the phone, trapped in some inane argument with his girlfriend. About a year ago, Georgi had tearfully mentioned to Viktor that his girlfriend was planning on taking a job in a city eight hours away; then she _hadn’t_ , and the bright hope in Viktor’s chest fizzled out faster than ever before.

Well, until today, anyway.

The lab window was still empty when Viktor returned to the office. Maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. In fact, maybe it _wasn’t._ It kind of seemed to be the trajectory the past couple weeks were heading in, anyway.

He collapsed into his chair, running his fingers over the newly repaired keyboard. At least there was _one_ message waiting for him, scrawled out on a sticky note sitting at the center of the keyboard.

“Break this again and I’ll break you.” 

* * *

 

There were no further messages, either from Viktor’s penpal _or_ an angry temp, come Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Or Thursday-

Except _Thursday_ , saving grace as it was, provided Viktor one small mercy. As he exited the lunch line with a tray of mashed potatoes and bagged green beans, his eyes caught a sign of life at his usual table - and Phichit, seated by himself, also noticed _him._ But when Viktor waved, Phichit was quick to return his attention to his meal.

Viktor’s brow furrowed. Phichit had definitely seen him; that rebuff was nothing short of deliberate. But for the life of him, Viktor couldn’t imagine what he’d done to deserve it. He knew he was a constant thorn in Yuri and Chris’ sides, but Phichit? He’d thought he and Phichit had a good thing going. Hell, he’d even liked all of Phichit’s photos on Instagram over the past month!

Maybe it had something to do with Yuuri, Viktor mused, noting his absence at the table. Had he done something to offend _Yuuri?_ A shiver traveled up his spine. No, he decided, that couldn’t be it. He shouldn’t be so dramatic. After all, Yuuri had been missing for a week, so he was most likely on vacation, or skipping lunches, or…

Or Viktor had really offended him. Damn it.

Come Friday, Viktor ignored Phichit’s intentional rebuff, part deux, as he slid into the seat across from him. “Hey!” He flashed Phichit a grin. “How’s it going?”

Phichit shrugged, far more absorbed in his phone--or, at the very least, pretending to be. Though knowing Phichit, he probably wasn’t pretending. “Fine.”

“Hm.” Viktor chewed on a dry hunk of turkey as he feigned thinking. Then: “So, long time, no see! Where have you and Yuuri been? Well, actually, where _is_ Yuuri?”

There was a palpable pause, filled with an undefined tension, before Phichit mumbled, “He’s visiting family this week.”

“Oh.” Viktor’s blood pressure dropped to a viable level. So he _hadn’t_ horribly offended Yuuri. “I had no idea.”

Phichit lifted an eyebrow. “He’s been planning it for a while.”

“He never mentioned it. I mean, I knew he was going to be busy this weekend, but he didn’t tell me why.” Viktor rested his chin in his hands as he sighed. “It’s not like I can track him on social media, either. It’s been _months_ since I requested to follow him on Instagram and he still hasn’t accepted me.”

“Well, yeah,” Phichit said, setting his phone on the table. “Yuuri doesn’t use Instagram. I pressured him into creating an account forever ago, but I doubt he even remembers his password.

Once again, “Oh.”

Phichit’s phone dinged, and by his millennial nature, Viktor’s eyes darted to the lit screen. And despite Phichit’s valiant effort to snatch the phone away, Viktor had already spotted the selfie from Yuuri.

With a dog.

A small dog, with brown, curly hair--like a miniature Makkachin--cradled in Yuuri’s arms, like it belonged to him.

Viktor lifted his gaze to meet Phichit’s. “Does Yuuri have a dog?”

Phichit’s tone was guarded as he held the phone close to his chest: “It’s his family’s dog.”

“I’ve seen that dog before,” Viktor said, speaking the words as their meaning sank in, the gears finally turning. “I’ve seen Yuuri’s dog before.” When Phichit didn’t respond, perhaps waiting for Viktor to finally piece it all together, Viktor concluded: “Yuuri is my penpal.”

“We’ve been using the term ‘window pal,’ but yeah, I guess that works.” Phichit’s brow furrowed as he regarded Viktor. “You didn’t know?”

“Of course I didn’t know!” Of course, he _should_ have known. Sometimes, even Viktor couldn’t believe how dense he was. “If I’d known, don’t you think I would have mentioned it at lunch sometime?”

“I assumed that was _why_ you were sitting with us at lunch.”

“Well, yes. Sort of,” Viktor admitted. “To be honest, at first, I thought it was you.” Phichit’s jaw dropped open and Viktor quickly elaborated, “Obviously, I figured out it wasn’t you. But by that point, I just liked eating lunch with you guys.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t know,” Phichit said, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze was drawn, unfocused, to the table; after a pause, it flashed back up to Viktor. “But what about his message?”

“What message?” Viktor blinked. “Oh. Wait. I had this conversation with him. You mean the one he left on my windshield?”

“What?”

“I guess I parked in his usual space and he got really upset? He left me a note…” Viktor trailed off as Phichit stared at him, slack-jawed. “Um. That...wasn’t him, was it?”

“Does that sound like Yuuri?”

“No. I mean, I _thought_ it was unusual, but I…” Viktor buried his forehead in his hands. “I am such an idiot.”

“So,” Phichit started after a brief pause, not bothering to refute Viktor’s self-condemnation. “Does that mean you _didn’t_ get his message?”

Viktor shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You asked for his name,” Phichit said. Something awful turned in Viktor’s stomach. “He gave it to you. In our window. He also asked you to meet him in the courtyard.”

“Valentine’s Day,” Viktor exhaled, body stiff as a board.

“So you did see it!”

Before Phichit’s tone could grow any more accusatory, Viktor waved it off. “No. I was sick on Valentine’s Day, and then the office flooded, so I couldn’t see his reply.” He dug his fingers into his hair. “Ugh, I was _wondering_ … And then Yuri--our temp, Yuri--saw him giving you a box of chocolates in the courtyard-”

“Those were for you.” Viktor’s hand froze in his hair, barely breathing as Phichit continued, “It was very cute. Very _Yuuri_ , you know?” Viktor totally knew. “He was so nervous that you wouldn’t show up. Or that you would, and then you’d reject him…”

“Reject him? We had a date planned!” Finding himself leaning across the table, his shirt precariously close to dipping into the gelatinous gravy on his tray, Viktor forced himself to sit back down. “I mean, sort of. We were supposed to go to the skating rink. I would have…” Viktor buried his face in his hands again. “Ugh, this is such a mess.”

“I warned him that flirting via window messages wasn’t the most effective method of getting close to you.” Viktor peered through his fingers as Phichit shrugged. “But he’s shy, you know?”

Viktor heaved a sigh. “I know.” Guilt curdled in his chest as he tried not to think about poor Yuuri, who’d gathered up the confidence to ask Viktor out, only to be left out in the cold. Yuuri must have thought Viktor _hated_ him. No wonder that elevator ride had been so awkward the other day! If Viktor had known, if he’d had even an inkling…

He glanced up at Phichit. “When does Yuuri get back?”

“He’ll be back in the lab on Monday.”

“Great.” In a not-so-rare show of dramatics, Viktor shoved his tray aside, sending a chunk of turkey bouncing to the end of the table. “Let’s start planning, then.”

Phichit cocked his head. “Planning for what?”

“For Monday, obviously.” 

* * *

 

The office door swung open with a _bang_ on Monday morning, as Yuri marched in carrying two rolls of blue tape. “This had _better_ be an excessive estimate,” he grumbled as he tossed the rolls to Viktor, who juggled them for a couple seconds before clutching them to his chest.

“Better safe than sorry.” He turned toward the window, eyes scanning the lab for any sign of movement. _Nothing._ He tried to remind himself that was a good thing.

“So, what’s your big message?” Yuri asked as Viktor tore the first strip of tape and smoothed it along the window. “Are you trying for subtlety or are you going full marriage proposal?”

Viktor laughed, mostly due to nerves, though he tried to disguise it as a scoff. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

To his surprise, Yuri didn’t immediately turn heel, instead lingering in the doorway until Viktor finished the message: “Pork cutlets in the caf today!”

Behind him, Yuri muttered, “The cafeteria doesn’t even open until 8:30.”

“He won’t get here until 9.”

“Not even going to ask how you know that. But do you really think... _pork cutlets_ are going to draw him out?” There was an edge to Yuri’s voice, and Viktor couldn’t discern whether it was scorn or concern.

Viktor smiled. “I have it on pretty good authority that they will.”

 

By 11:45, Viktor’s phone buzzed with the notification that his trap had been successful. His fingers flew across the keyboard: “Already?”

_Phichit Chulanont, 11:45_

     This is the latest I could push it. I warned you about using pork cutlets as bait.

Point taken. Viktor shot another text to Yuri: “Mission is a go.”

_Yuri Plisetsky,_ 11:46

     “Mission is a go?” Do you think this is some fucking heist movie?

     Also hurry up, it’s fucking cold out there.

Viktor paid little mind to the last text, instead scrambling to the window and ripping off the tape. Then he grabbed the poster board he’d set beside his desk and placed it atop the windowsill, grateful to Chris for not complaining--for _once_ \--about Viktor blocking the sunlight.

He checked his phone again. _11:48._ There wasn’t much time to spare. Viktor readied himself with a deep breath before bursting out of the room, accompanied by Chris’ sing-song, “Good luck, Romeo!” Perhaps Chris wasn’t aware of how that play ended.

It was quick dash to the research building, where a certain overworked temp was leaning against the entrance doors, the bottom half of his face tucked into his winter coat. He only lifted an eyebrow in greeting as Viktor approached.

Viktor, nearly out of breath after racing down several flights of stairs, panted, “Did you get the-”

Yuri rolled his eyes as he dug into his jacket pockets and extracted an ID card. Viktor accepted it with wide eyes, handling it as if it were some precious artifact.

“Are you sure you weren’t noticed?”

Yuri scoffed. “I think Katsuki was far too interested in those pork cutlet bowls to even notice my existence. Besides, I don’t think he would have recognized me anyway.”

Viktor nodded, studying the ID card for a moment before looking back to Yuri. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back.”

“You’d _better._ I swear, if you don’t get me those pirozhki, I’m going to tell Yakov that you’re the one who’s been wasting all our office supplies.”

Viktor patted Yuri on the shoulder as he passed him, pushing open one of the building doors. “Ha! Good one, Yuri.”

“That’s not a joke, asshole!” Yuri called, seconds before the door clicked shut.

Viktor feigned confidence as he approached the security desk, putting on his best sales pitch bravado. Sure, the security guards knew everyone who passed in and out of the research building everyday, but Viktor had bullshitted his way out of more challenging situations before. Some faux-swagger was all it would take.

It was, in fact, _not_ all that it would take. One of the security guards, a man who looked as though he could bench press Viktor, frowned as Viktor pressed the card to the scanner. “Yeah, you definitely aren’t Dr. Chulanont.”

The comment piqued the attention of the guard, a short woman with brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail. Viktor forced an easygoing laugh. “Ah, no. He just asked me to retrieve a few things from his lab.”

The man’s frown deepened. “That’s not how protocol here works. Dr. Chulanont knows that.”

“I, uh… I understand that,” Viktor said, scratching at the back of his neck. “I’ll be sure to tell him that, but if we could just let it slide this time…”

“No.”

The word was enough to crack Viktor’s shield of feigned nonchalance. “Okay, I can’t explain right now, but I really need-”

“Hold on.” The female guard rose from her chair and stalked over to Viktor, leaning across the desk to peer at his hand. “What’s that you’re carrying? No, not the ID - I mean in your other hand.” With some reluctance, Viktor extended his hand toward her; the woman’s eyes widened at once, a smile dawning on her face. “A box of chocolates?” Her bright gaze darted to his face. “Silver hair? Blue eyes? Don’t tell me - you’re that cute guy in sales that Yuuri likes?”

Viktor’s face flushed, though he’d fallen too far into a daze to care. “Yuuri...talks about me?”

The woman shrugged. “Mostly Phichit teases him about you, but yes, Yuuri’s mentioned you, too.” Her gaze flickered again to the box of chocolates, then back up to Viktor. “Are those for him?”

Viktor nodded, and the woman practically leapt onto the other security guard’s back, slapping his shoulders with a new urgency. “Come on, Takeshi, let him through!”

“Already ahead of you.” He waved Viktor along through the turnstile.

“Good luck!” the woman called as Viktor hurried toward the main staircase. He waved back without interrupting his quick pace.

“Thank you!”

Viktor wound his way up the staircase, passing several befuddled scientists and offering them a perfunctory nod. If his goal was to go unnoticed, he was failing spectacularly. He prayed that none of them recognized him from sales; if Yuuri knew he was here, this plan could all go to ruins.

By the time Viktor reached the fourth floor, he was gasping for breath. He hobbled down the hallway, checking the plaques on each door until he reached: “Dr. Phichit Chulanont, Dr. Yuuri Katsuki.” Viktor tested the door handle; it turned easily, left unlocked by Phichit, as promised. Viktor grinned as he slipped into the lab, shutting the door behind him with a quiet _click._

He paused as he took in his surroundings. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised to see his own window from this perspective. Maybe he wasn’t _really_ surprised; he’d just never imagined that he’d be _here_ , reading _that_ message. Nerves fluttered in Viktor’s chest, reminding him that he really was there, amid the inevitable chaos of Yuuri and Phichit’s lab, with no choice of turning back.

As if he’d ever choose anything else.

Only a couple minutes passed before Phichit’s muffled voice echoed from the hallway: “Yuuri, you can’t possibly be that upset!”

“I was promised pork cutlets!”

Viktor tried to stifle a laugh, but it was truncated anyway as the door swung open. “Hey, why was the door unloc-”

Yuuri froze in the doorway, his fingers still resting on the handle, as his widened eyes landed on Viktor. His jaw dropped open, as though he were making to say something, but no words came out. In lieu of conversation, Viktor offered him a small wave.

“Hey.” Viktor took several shaky steps sideways, clearing a path for Yuuri to see the window. Yuuri’s head tilted slightly, his brow furrowed, more nonplussed than anything. Then his gaze traveled past Viktor. In a trance, Yuuri took a few hesitant steps forward, squinting as he read the poster board in the sales office window. Still silent, his lips mouthed the words Viktor had written for him: “Yuuri, will you go on a date with me?”

For a moment, Yuuri said nothing, _did_ nothing, and Viktor’s lungs screamed to release the breath he’d been holding. But then Yuuri whirled to face him, looking somewhere between frenzied and shocked, and Viktor extended the hand holding the box of chocolates, babbling out in one exhale, “I’m so sorry about our miscommunication! If I’d known, I would have shown up, I would have said _yes_ , I swear. But since I didn’t, will you?”

Yuuri’s gaze drifted down to the box. When it returned to Viktor, brown and warm and every bit as aglow as the rest of Yuuri’s face, Viktor’s breath returned. “Yes!” Yuuri nodded furiously, chuffing a breathy laugh. “Yes, of course.”

Viktor thought he might collapse as the tension drained from his body. He broke into an easy grin. “I was thinking ice skating might be fun.”

A scoff came from the doorway. “Are you going to try to convince us again that you can’t skate?” Viktor had forgotten Phichit was there. “Did you really think I hadn’t done my share of internet sleuthing? We found your old competition videos. You should really pick your lies better.”

Viktor ignored Phichit’s callout, his focus drawn to the phone in the scientist’s hand, and the camera lens pointing toward Viktor and Yuuri. “Have you been taking photos of us?”

“Oh yeah, since we got here,” Phichit confirmed, snapping another picture for good measure. “These are definitely going on Instagram. I’m thinking of captioning it, ‘Cutest proposal ever.’ Or ‘Wow! Two local idiots finally get it together!’” He snapped his fingers. “Wait. No. I have it: ‘Finally, our office supplies are saved!’”

Viktor and Yuuri’s gazes found each other, both knowing, before they broke into laughter. As if this marked the end of their window messages. No, their potential was too great now; birthdays needed to be acknowledged, anniversaries celebrated, pictures of hearts and dogs exchanged. No, this was only the beginning. 

* * *

 

It wasn’t. Not for lack of trying, but because by week’s end, Yakov had instituted a sign-out system for markers and tape.

But that was okay, Viktor thought, as he browsed through his Instagram feed for the twelfth time that morning, predictably pausing on the photo he’d uploaded that weekend: he and Yuuri posing at the ice rink, the two of them looking tired and sweaty and so _happy_. The post had already garnered a slew of supportive comments, ranging from Phichit’s “I DID THIS” to Chris’ single eggplant emoji. Viktor needed to have a conversation with Yuri about the pig and vomiting face emojis he’d left for them.

Viktor tapped on his notifications, again for the twelfth time that morning, and stared at the most recent one: “yuuri_katsuki liked your post.”

He grinned.

**Author's Note:**

> For someone who hates miscommunication as a plot device, I sure do use it a lot, huh. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! FYI I super appreciate comments. :) Also, I now have a [Tumblr](https://zamagl.tumblr.com/) which has absolutely zero content bc I don't know what to do with it. But anyway, if you want to chat (about this fic, or YOI, or literally anything else) feel welcome to hmu there.
> 
> Okay. I think that's all.


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